Disconnected
by Shaitanah
Summary: Michael Scofield and Alexander Mahone. Together they’re unbeatable. [Slashy undertones] R&R!


**Title**: "Disconnected"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: PG

**Timeline**: post-"Sona"

**Summary**: Michael Scofield and Alexander Mahone. Together they're unbeatable. [Slashy undertones

**Disclaimer**: That's so not mine!

**A/N**: I wrote this directly after watching Season 2 finale.

* * *

**DISCONNECTED**

The first time they meet is two months after imprisonment. Alex remembers Scofield's face in the dense smoky night strewn with rain, his bright eyes staring at him with the same enigmatic, cautious expression as always.

And right now it's the dark, and the smoke, and the insects, and the wheezing, and multiplying sighs and curses, and the smothering heat, and the fear… Fear all over again.

His heart skips a beat as Scofield draws near incredibly slowly, tentatively. Alex suppresses the urge to press his back against the dirty wall in a futile attempt to become invisible. Scofield stops, cocks his head slightly as though uncertain if it really is the former special agent Mahone here. And then he throws the first punch. And they fight, roll on the floor that smells with vomit, their bodies pressed together in an intricate entanglement of limbs; and they hit each other, panting, grunting, bellowing. It ends as abruptly as it has started. Next thing they know they are already sitting opposite each other, wiping blood off of their split lips.

"I guess you never imagined it would turn out this way, huh, Scofield?" Alex says. There is no mockery in his voice, just bitterness. "When you set me up. I should not have underestimated you."

"I'm not happy. If that's what you mean."

His voice is so impassive, so dark that Alex is instantly plagued by the same cold, nauseating feeling that engulfed him when he called Pam.

"You have no idea what it cost me," Alex whispers.

"Don't start. Like you're the only victim."

This place is a living hell. It probably makes him wish he'd never left Fox River. Someone's breathing heavily in the dark. Like wild cats in captivity. The sound of slow, creeping death.

Mahone shifts and sits beside Scofield. The other pays no attention to the change of position. Alex shuts his eyes. He tries to think of something beyond the bars, but in that big, bright, beautiful world outside there is only Pam. Sweet patient Pam who loves the memory of him, the Alex in college, romantic, caring and honest. He is not that man anymore. And every time he thinks of Pam, remorse stings him like a ruthless wasp. What could have been is lost.

Scofield groans quietly. Alex flashes him a questioning look.

"I'm okay."

Mahone shrugs. "I never meant to ask."

He grasps a fistful of Michael's shirt and pulls it up, baring a pattern of ugly bruises, hardly visible over his tattoos. For a moment he forgets how to breathe. This wonderful labyrinth, the path to freedom… Why, oh why is it not this particular prison?

Sona has no way out. Sona is the end of the journey, the dead end. The monsters whisper. Alex brushes his fingers against Michael's ribcage in sacred awe. Michael winces.

"That's not me," Mahone states. "These are at least a few days old…"

"They don't like me here any more than they did back in Fox River."

"What, no fans? No queues for autographs?"

"Just a couple of really aggressive fanboys who would gladly tear me up for souvenirs," Michaels smirks sourly.

They share a laugh. It seems unexpected and strange. Mahone fails to notice that he's still clutching the front of Scofield's shirt.

"You're safer here," he says. "Come to think of it we both are. You have very little idea what these people are capable of." Michael snorts. "You're nothing to them, emptiness! You're air, Michael!"

Something about the way he said it sets off his inner alarm. It was supposed to be a statement of his insignificance, but… air is not supposed to be wasted. It's a necessity, a basis of life. Perplexed, Alex withdraws his hand and avoids eye contact.

"You worked for them," Scofield observes coolly.

"I had no choice!" Mahone exclaims. "I had… I didn't want to–."

What? To go to prison? _This is prison, Alex,_ he reminds himself firmly. Scofield simply looks at him.

"What I did," Alex says, hoping he will understand: he's referring to the planned set up in Mira Flores, "was necessary. I hope you know it."

"Yeah… Same here."

Scofield drops his hand on the floor next to Mahone's. They don't touch, but Alex can sense the heat that Michael's skin radiates, and it travels down his spine in prickly tingles, and explodes somewhere at the bottom of his abdomen.

It was predetermined. From the moment of their first encounter, the first time their eyes met, the moment Mahone knew: this was his ideal prey. And he rushed after Scofield, headfirst; he knew he wanted to get him. And now, here, in this hot, moist, foul-smelling inferno, he understands: it simply has to be this way.

Michael. And him. Together. They played against each other, and lost. What if?..

"We can crush them only together," Mahone whispers. "You and I, Michael, we're unstoppable. Can't you see? We tried to bite each other, and we've broken our teeth."

"I thought you'd had enough," Scofield says indifferently.

Alex is dying to shake that apathy off of him. It's not the Scofield he used to know. Where the hell is his spouting energy? Alex grips his shoulders and stared directly into his mesmerizing blue eyes.

"I've had enough of this, Scofield!" he spits venomously. "As well as of you. I must get free! If you're my ticket to freedom, I'm sorry but I won't hesitate to use it."

Michael leans into him, their foreheads touching. His eyes speak of many things. Accusations of murder, of Alex being rightfully incarcerated in this dreadful place, of fear to lose and longing for his brother, and Dr Tancredi, and that he's happy she's free and safe.

"Two beers with lime," he whispers and elaborates upon receiving an inquiring look: "I promised Sara. It was supposed to be a date."

"Colombia," sighs Alex. "I promised Pam. It was supposed to fix our marriage."

Suddenly Michael laughs. The simple curving of his lips sends Alex spiraling into oblivion. He is ready to do anything to see that smile again. That smile saves lives.

"Are we in for it?" he asks.

He remembers Pam telling him once that love is a yes or no question. And somehow he's terribly afraid to hear 'no'.

The walk is over. Time to get back to the cells. Through harsh shouts of guards a feeble 'yes' reaches Alex's hearing. The echo of that short, sharp word thunders in his ears as they take him and Scofield apart, back to the different wings of the building, away from each other until the next meeting that cannot come too soon.

And in the following hours – a feverish pulsation of blood in his veins, a non-stop storm in his mind.

It's not living now. It is survival.

_July 27–28, 2007_


End file.
